¶Poore broken gla
sse, I often did behold
¶In thy
sweet
semblance, my old age new borne,
1760But now that faire fre
sh mirror dim and old
¶Shewes me a bare-bon'd death by time out-worne,
¶O from thy cheekes my image thou ha
st torne,
¶_And
shiuerd all the beautie of my gla
sse,
¶_That I no more can
see what once I was.
1765O time cea
se thou thy cour
se and la
st no longer,
¶If they
surcea
se to be that
should
suruiue:
¶Shall rotten death make conque
st of the
stronger,
¶And leaue the foultring feeble
soules aliue?
¶The old Bees die, the young po
sse
sse their hiue,
1770_Then liue
sweet
LVCRECE, liue againe and
see
¶_Thy father die, and not thy father thee.
¶By this
starts
COLATINE as from a dreame,
¶And bids
LVCRECIVS giue his
sorrow place,
¶And than in key-cold
LVCRECE bleeding
streame
1775He fals, and bathes the pale feare in his face,
¶And counterfaits to die with her a
space,
¶_Till manly
shame bids him po
sse
sse his breath,
¶_And liue to be reuenged on her death.